NEW ZEALAND VERSE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 225, 23 September 1933, Page 9 (Supplement)

NEW ZEALAND VERSE.

THE WHITE HERON. (Tho white lieron has been seen.) On Elfin Lake at noon-day There lies a spell, men say, When all the birchen woodlands seem To close around it in a dream, And the slim pine-woods, spire on spire, Stand hushed in that enchanted place Of spun glass and white lire, And blue illimitable space; Yet you may walk the woods by day, Nor suffer evil, so men say.

But at the dawning or the dusk, Walk not by Ellin Lake, nor bruise The fine fronds of the fairy musk, That breathes its incense to the dews Of evening or the rose-red dawn, Ifor those who breathe the musk forsake Tlio ways of men, by madness drawn, To lose their souls in Ellin Lake.

X-'or Elfin Lake is the land of faerie, And the lone white heron's sanctuary. Still, still it is—so still. No wild duck nests among the reeds. No black swan dips lier scarlet bill In the wet tangle of the weeds; No white swan comes, as once he came, Iluffling the sunlit ripples into flame. There is a silence none may break On Elfin Lake.

Pale as a moonbeam, bird of grace, This slender solitary thing. Lord of this solitary place, Of Elfin Lake the Elfin king.

Alone he walks the water's edge, Alone he seeks the reedy sedge. Where waxen lily-buds unfold Deep chalices of white and gold. Against the dark woods, glimmering white His slim shape trails in spectral flight, Or mute and motionless he broods, Snow-pale in jade-green solitudes, With not a wimpllng flaw to break His perfect image in the lake.

O, White rrince—did some ancient spell, Some old malign dark wizardry, Bewitch thee in this shape to dwell Tragic and lovely mystery? Or didst thou come at dawn or dusk, When tho mists writhe and the stars shake, To tread the fatal fairy musk — And lose thy soul in Ellin Lake? —ISABEL M. CLUETT. Auckland. JONQUILS IN NIGHT. These aro the passions of the dead, that come As of old, shyly, from their hearts In Spring. These, the shrill bugles of their blocds' calm drums — Sharp cryings from slow brains —remembering ! Sorrow sings in these quick things of the earth. Their wine cups are not deep enough to hold Its sensual music and the soft, sad mirth Spilt from dead lips—those lips loved well of old. These claim a kinship with September stars Because of shape, and each to each, all night They murmur windily like tense guitarß, Cell singing to cell and fur sap to far light. And even wlieji a lover's careless feet Tramples their frailness down—oh, even then, The exquisite sadness and the ceaseless beat Of earth desirous hearts flutes In the stems, Crying within cries, struck from the loom Of young trees putting forth their lirst, faint bloom. —EVE LANGLEY, Wanganui. IN A CATHEDRAL. This stilly silence falls upon the strained And jangled strings of an unquiet mind, Like oil upon tempestuous waters rained That out of turbulence, the soul may find That inner room, that sanctified sweet place Where nothing is, but quietude and ease, As in sequestered caves, there comes the

grace Of placidncss to torn and trembling seas. Without, the blatant sun goes caliously, Undeviatlngly upon his way; Within, it is as though suns ceased to he, And only twilit evening made the day. Without, profound and bitter deeps arc stirred. Within, Time stands and waits upon the word. —HELENA HENDERSON. Cliristchurch. SHADOWS. Slowly I walk through the bazaar of life. Gathering my purchases. The sky is light With tropic bluencss. Music tills the stalls. My feet tingle to dance. The air is white And shimmering, and champagne-clear, and night So far awav. Yet always I can see Close following, dark shadow figures leer, Mock and grimace and point with skinny hands— Grey shadows of the selves I meant to be, The visions I forsook, the gay, the free, The vital selves I planned. And always I Call out my future selves to comfort me, To stroke my self-esteem. God! let them not , Rot and decay and turn to shadows too. To jeer about my death-bed soullessly. —CHRISTINE COMBER. Auckland.